Recruiting athletes for collegiate athletics has become a multi-million, if not billion dollar business. Instead of treating these athletes as the future adults of tomorrow, they are treated like commodities: how much money can he or she bring to our programs? What can they offer me? As a result, the process in a young athlete’s life has begun much earlier than in previous decades. It use to be that a sophomore or a junior in high school was at a prime age for recruitment. But now, there are 13- or 14-year-olds verbally committed to colleges. To put that into context, they have not even hit high school yet let alone puberty. Many coaches see something in them and want to lure them to their programs, often creating a sense of false hope or security. If the athlete gets injured, burned out or cannot handle the academics, for instance, the coach can easily dispose of them (but the reverse cannot be said for the athlete who wants to transfer out). As in the movie Hoop Dreams, Coach Pingatore was quick to recruit and demonstrate his fatherly nature towards his athletes, but also quick to move on once a place had been made vacant. And this was just in high school basketball. A quote that stuck out in the film: “One goes out the door, and another one comes in the door.” To many coaches, that is all their athletes are - commodities in an ever-turning revolving door.
After college, I coordinated U.S. Soccer’s training camps for their youth national teams and got exposure to this dynamic, from collegiate coaches. These players were the creme-de-la-creme in the sport and highly sought after by the top programs in the country. I was appalled at how much pressure is put on these young kids to make such huge life decisions at just 13, 14 or 15 years of age. As I spent nearly 18 hours each day with each age bracket for a week at a time, I got to know their personalities and could tell that they were not in any place to determine what schools they wanted to attend, what sort of athletic programs they wanted to be a part of, what sort of major they would be interested in years from now - they were normal young teenagers just trying to get a grip on what it meant to be growing up. I got to know the players fairly well and would communicate with them years down the line, to receive phone calls asking for advice about if they had made the right decision and whether not they should transfer. The ethical issue is two-fold. First, the athletes have not matured physically enough and therefore, the player they are at that young age may not be the same as five years down the line. The pressure of having to maintain a commitment, and a projected level of performance, to that university often leads to injuries before even entering the program. Second, the athletes have not matured mentally and emotionally enough to even know if they want to play that sport in college, or if they want to play a sport at all, let alone where or at what level. It puts an unbalanced emphasis on athletics over academics. I carry around my little notebook everywhere I go. I write down ideas, thoughts, inspiration, conversations, anything that I want to recall at a later date. Whenever I get a quiet moment, I enjoy flipping through one of my oldies (but goodies) and seeing what I thought was important on 9/21/2011 or what I learned on 7/1/2014. Filled with quotes, advice and lists, it is a tangible timeline of my personal and professional growth. What started off as a way to combat short-term memory loss quickly evolved into a passion for cataloging my thought processes and progress. Unlike a diary, each notebook portrays an objective record of mental ramblings, musings and insights. Like a textbook for "Life University," it tracks my most precious moments and allows me to get back inside my head to re-educate and re-iterate important lessons. With dozens of books stacked away for safe keeping, I look forward to one day organizing all the nuggets of wisdom and pinpointing the exact date that I became the person I am today. Born to a conservative Irish father, I initially felt like my decision was an act of defiance, rebelling against the norm. I wanted to play soccer but in 1993, there was not a local girls’ team. I did not understand why I could not play so I tried out for the boys’ team. The coach told me that it would be unfair to take a spot away from a boy but if I proved worthy, he would give me a shot. Not only did I make a boy’s team, I made the "A" team and earned a starting position, but not without great expense. I had to constantly explain to my teammates and their parents, and opponents, and anyone else who was offended by the thought of a ponytail on the field why I deserved to be there. However, my biggest critic was my own father. He believed sports should be played within their own gender silos; it was sacrilege for a girl to play among boys. Here I was, his own flesh and blood, disrupting the peace. No matter how bad it got, my mom would still sneak me off to practice and I would continue to rush home after school everyday and train for hours on my own to make sure I maintained my spot on the starting squad. I was determined to be the dark horse. To my five-year-old self, I could not understand why it mattered that I was a girl on a boys’ team, especially if I had the skills to back it up. It made no difference to me so why should it to them? I realized at an early age that nobody – no matter gender, economic or social background – should be prevented from playing sport.
I went on to play collegiate soccer at Carnegie Mellon University (on the women’s team this time) and suffered a terrible concussion in practice at the end of my freshman year, adding another notch to a series of blows to the head. All it took was a carelessly thrown shoulder to my neck for me to lose consciousness and experience years of debilitating pain – physical, mental and emotional. The next thing I knew, I struggled with the simple things that I took for granted: I could not pronounce certain words or string together a sentence; I could not walk in a straight line or step up stairs; I could not sit in a room without being bothered by the subtleties of noise; I could not work on school assignments without falling asleep from mental exhaustion; I could not go for a run without blacking out. That is only part of the list of "No Can Dos." There were so many things my mind and body use to be able to do so effortlessly but could no longer. The moment I realized how bad my mental function was, was when my neurologist gave me a seemingly easy task: to name as many animals as I could in 60 seconds. Confidently, I started riddling off species. Little did I know that when the clock ran out, I had only four on the final list. To me, what sounded like dozens of animals was just a lack of short-term memory, and I had instead repeated dog, cat, elephant and lion over and over again. As I was faced with similar obstacles, I viewed each as opportunities – opportunities to improve my agility. I had to adapt and improve my side step. Ultimately, I had two choices: I could wallow in my own sadness and resort to never being “normal” again or I could pull myself up by my bootstraps and keep trying. I chose the latter and continue to claw my way up those walls. After two years of spending countless weeks at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center (UPMC) rehabilitation center where the Pittsburgh Steelers, Penguins and University of Pittsburgh athletes also frequent, I re-learned to walk and talk, adapted to sensory sensitivity, learned how to multitask and exercise without blacking out and eventually recovered from most of my incapacitating symptoms. It has been an ongoing process for continued growth but one day I am hoping for a total transformation. During this entire process, I had to hang up my boots. That meant I was stripped of my identity – an identity I had spent the past 20 years shaping. I was absolutely devastated. Who am I without wearing the uniform? It has always been about the name on the front of the jersey but now I had to consider what was next for the one on the back. After 20 years, I may not be an athlete in the conventional sense any more but I refuse to be pulled away from the game that made me. The concussion(s) forced me to put life into perspective. I grew even more determined to chisel out my new identity and still head towards goal but a different sense of the word. I want to establish myself in other aspects of sport; I want to be more than just an athlete but a champion for equality in sports. I am a spokesperson for Title IX, as I assisted with the ESPN 40th anniversary initiative, coach and mentor young players, advocate for a larger women’s sports presence in mainstream media, and work to sustain a professional women’s soccer league in the United States. Now, instead of tackling players, I tackle challenges and unique projects in the workforce. In a sense, I have not put a different name on the front of my jersey – I am playing for Equality. The team may change, whether it is for Women’s Rights or African American Rights, but the club is the same. We often define diversity by gender and race, and then potentially expand it into sexuality, but we often overlook disability. I, too, was naïve to my own disability. It is not as salient as others’ – those with visual reminders like prosthetics. To me, it is the invisible piece of my identity puzzle that nobody can ever understand but it is there and it can be crippling. But, enabling others to find their missing puzzle pieces has become something that I have become passionate about as a leader in sports. I had to find a new identity within sports without identifying solely as a former athlete. It was one of the most challenging experiences for me, as someone who had spent the majority of my life identifying with the mentality: I am competitive, highly motivated, hard-working and devoted. But I had to find a way to transfer those qualities into something productive while working with others towards a common goal. I am drawn to the camaraderie, passion and focus, and needed an outlet. I believe that others who have had similar experiences need to have support groups to know that all is not lost. I refuse to let my crucible moment define me but let my reaction to it instead. I can only hope the experience can transition me from that dark horse into a white stallion. With in the University of Central Florida DeVos Sport Business program, we had to interview ourselves so below are my answers... As I sit riverside in Canada, I wonder why life can't always be this gentle and calm. In stark contrast is the other 51 weeks of the year spent weaving through foot traffic at subway stations, adhering to strict deadlines and frazzled by slowpokes. I thrive off chaos but welcome the serenity when it comes. I love to go for long walks - partially because I'm nursing a foot injury and can't go for substantial runs anymore - but really because it allows for me to saunter. It reminds me of one day during my freshman fall at Carnegie Mellon. Professor Dr. Scott Sandage didn't show up for class but instead left some form of: "Class won't happen today. But, I ask that you use this time wisely and go saunter" on the blackboard. For this reason, "saunter" has become one of my favorite and most-used words. To saunter is to walk in a slow, relaxed manner without worry or effort. To Henry David Thoreau, it's much more complicated yet paradoxically simpler than that. To him, it's "the art of walking." The word saunterer can derive from "sainte-terrer," which means a holy leader (someone in search of the holy land) or perhaps, from "sans terre" which means without land or home. Both hit at the notion that those who understand the art of walking have no particular home because everywhere is equally hospitable. So back in Pittsburgh, during the next meeting, my classmates and I were asked what we learned during our sauntering sessions. Did we notice the bas-relief of Benjamin Franklin on the building we pass every single day? No. Did we hear the birds chirping when otherwise we would only notice students bustling on their way to class? Did we smell the fresh cut grass? Or run our fingers along the uneven surface of the bench that overlooks the tennis courts? Did we even use that time to saunter or did we just go back to the dorms to sleep? After reading Thoreau's "Walden Pond" and Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Self-Reliance," I became fascinated by their ever-present thoughtfulness and introspective nature. I began to make it a priority to view the world through their eyes and march to the beat of their drummer. When you stop for a moment, and truly take in your surroundings, you realize how much of life you're missing. It's a sad (initially) but then an uplifting realization. I often get so absorbed by my environment and trapped in my own head that I ignore the senses and what they are trying to tell me. Once you start to acknowledge their power and the influence they have on your life, it opens up so many more opportunities.
Not only can nature be reinvigorating, revitalizing, refreshing, it encourages self-analysis and provides opportunity to evaluate everything in life. When you take the time to take in your surroundings, time seems to slow. Your heart rate begins to drop. Your breathing gets deeper. Your thoughts become more insightful, more appreciative. I can only equate it to the instant gratification after long withdrawal, that sigh of relief, that shot of euphoria. A friend recently told me that the challenge is not in making a decision, but rather in making that decision actually be realized. How many times have we stood in the same place far too long, just hoping for a sign with a nod of approval to proceed in one direction or another? Far too frequently, unfortunately. And as the wise John Lennon preached, "Life is what happens when you are too busy making plans." It's in the planning that we somehow overlook the doing, the making, the seeing, the experiencing - the actual living. It's not the indecision in finding an optimal solution, regardless of whether it is ideal. It's more the fear of leaving the secure and the familiar for a land of unknowns.
We're primed at an early age to calculate, to know what we want to do the second we can string words together into a coherent sentence. But I always felt many of those who knew they "wanted" to be a lawyer, doctor, dentist, or something else that requires tremendous foresight at such a young age, were just prodded in that professional track because of prestige or tradition. Peer pressure can be a far more powerful and dangerous thing when the wrong motivations permeate thought processes. For the longest time, I thought I knew my dream job but it wasn't until I got to test drive it that I realized I needed to wake up. It was far from heaven. So far in fact that now I'm back to square one, ashamed to say I don't know what I want to do when I grow up. But after informational interviews with hundreds of people in various roles in various industries, I have come to terms with my ambiguity. Those most successful didn't have a plan logged step-by-step but instead let intuition and opportunity lead the way. It's not luck but strategic placement - and watchful eyes - that make the unforeseeable suddenly seem clear. They knew the bare minimum - they liked (fill in the blank with any topic), planning events, collaborating with others, telling stories, managing finances, discussing current events. But they didn't know then what that translated to in the professional / corporate world. I highly doubt anyone went to college for a history degree specializing in World War II warfare with the intent to program a TV guide for a major network. You could speak to a million people and get a million different perspectives. To every question asked, you would receive a million different answers. There's never one and only one correct answer. You could plug in all suggestions into an Excel formula and it'll spit out some statistical pattern but not a fail-proof solution. And that's daunting considering the sample size. Some people take the more obvious and methodical route while others carve out a more circuitous and chiefly unique path. The twists and turns may not seem direct but each curve provides an entirely new journey in which you learn from experiences. Those ultimately provide different interpretations and reactions that are specific to you and your needs. It's not a lack of focus, it's a general appreciation for learning and passion for growth. I far more respect those who know their power to be more than something previously defined. I want to do something that I know doesn't exist yet. Why wait for someone to leave before you can fill their shoes? You'll always be compared to the ones before you. You have different skills, experiences, backgrounds, contacts, approaches and opinions that allow you to bring something entirely new to the table. It's always refreshing to speak to people who value the present over the future. They would rather live paycheck-to-paycheck in order to really be rewarded in life altering interactions and memories - experiences that revolutionize how you view the world and invigorate you in such a way that you're motivated to change the world - someway, somehow. Those people are not afraid of uncertainty nor do they fear consequence. Maybe that's reckless or stupidly courageous, but I envy them for their strength to overcome what it is that often paralyzes others from moving forward, from tackling those goals that just seem so unrealistic, from acknowledging that failure often begets success. Nobody ever learned from doing it right the first time. Upsets make eventual triumphs so much sweeter. So without having taken the first drive, why assume you'll automatically drown? To live life upstream, you must keep swimming. And with that, I recently misused a metaphor for the sake of proving a different point - I feel like a sheep, albeit a black sheep, but a sheep nonetheless. I don't cause disgrace upon my family but rather reflect an unusual breed within a common species that sticks out for reasons beyond control, misunderstood by my peers but no way willing to be sheered of the qualities that define me. We arrived in Jerusalem on Shabbat. After services and dinner, everyone else made plans to stay near the hotel for the evening. But I had my own agenda. I quickly changed into my gear and jumped in a taxi, arriving at 11pm. I was told there would be a pickup game at that time but the park was completely deserted. I wandered around, hoping to find someone to ask where to find it. Far off in the distance, I saw bright lights. So I gravitated towards the only signs of life and was greeted by a dozen young boys, all of whom spoke Arabic.
I realized then that I would not be spotting any Israeli Jews on the court because of what day it was - the day of rest. Despite my U.S. Soccer shorts and tee, my American accent, my Jewish star necklace and my gender, they let me join. The wonderful thing about The Beautiful Game is that you can find it anywhere around the globe, especially in the form of pickup. My friend Gwendolyn Oxenham documented the phenomenon in her film "Pelada" where she traveled the world with her husband and two close friends in search of the stripped down game. One of the locations shot was in Jerusalem, where I currently stood. Her documentary confirmed that soccer is a universal language unto itself. Through hand gestures and all sorts of body language, you can communicate your intentions. It does not matter if you are tall or short, young or old, skinny or overweight, male or female, gay or straight, white or black, American or Israeli, Jewish or Muslim, you can still play the game as long as you can play the game. Despite me being everything they were not, I played with the young boys until grown men showed up just after midnight. I then continued to play with the new group. No problems there either. I slotted some promising through balls, scored a few integral goals and defended against some feisty forwards. Despite my successes, they would not give me high-fives or defend me properly because I was a woman, and according to their religion, men do not touch the opposite sex. The most profound moment came when I took a hard shot at goal, missed and screamed, "Oh my G-d!" What was meant to be an exasperated frustration turned into a revelation when a teammate asked, "To which G-d do you refer?" It was then that I really acknowledged I was in the birthplace of three prominent religions and the home to devout religious followers. Surprisingly, my answer did not bother him, and we continued to play. My team won by two, and we all said our goodnights. No harm, no foul, just an appreciation for the global sport that brought us together against many odds. If we all could co-exist without judgement or blame on the soccer field then the only thing that really mattered was the game. Sport has the potential to be a microcosm of society. It is the first to break barriers and encourage empowerment, diversity, inclusion and social justice. It is the universal language that allows anyone from anywhere in the world to communicate with one another. When you get into that huddle at a local pickup game, your race, gender, religion, socio-economic status all disappear because you cannot win unless you all pull together. Sport has the power for social change at the macro-level, if we only enable it to reach its potential. After years of contemplation, I finally caved. Yes, I'm launching a blog! I was worried about continual upkeep since it can be time-consuming and I don't have much time. Then I thought, what would I write that others would want to read? But I realized, most blogs are just about the author anyways so why not keep a log of my conversations, insights and opinions? Maybe someone else will find them valuable.
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